A Mouse Made Brave
by fantasdancer
Summary: A village girl finds courage through the kindness of a stranger.


_**Had an awful couple of weeks and haven't been updating my other stories due to a near death experience followed by a few weeks of PT stress. I thought I'd post this old story up in the mean time while I'm having trouble writing for my other stories in progress. Hope you like it and forgive me.**_

She was going to do it.

Malia dipped her ladle into the water bucket and lifted the brimming thing to the lips of the next prisoner; a man from her village called Beass. He snatched at it and drank thirstily before dropping the instrument back into her bucket. He didn't so much as glance at her, though only months ago he had tried to court her. He slumped back against the damp stone wall fearfully attempting to hide from the Jaffa in the shadows there. He wasn't defiant any longer, slowly starving as he was and Malia spared him a brief sad glance before she moved on.

The next prisoner was more desperate than most. He snatched impatiently at her ladle and clawed new scratches into her hand. She watched him drink, spilling half the water in his fear and desperation. Malia bit back a sigh and dutifully took back the ladle when he was done. How these men had changed in only two short months of imprisonment. Now they weren't defiant. If the so called God asked now, they would all bow and scrap before him in fear for their lives.

But she had changed too. She had been chosen for this task because she had been so meek and obedient. It filled her with awe and fear and a mixture of too many feelings to unravel to realise that she – the meek timid mouse of the village was going to do it – even when all the brave men of her village wouldn't dare. It was strange – her own defiance. How could she feel so alive when she was about to do something that could cost her her life? But she _was_ going to do it. She was determined – even if she didn't even know the strangers name. This life was not worth living like this. Defiance was all she had left now that her father lay dead and her brother too.

Cell after cell was filled with men and boys who had shown resistance when the Goa'uld had demanded their worship, cell after cell in a deep damp dungeon of a crumbling old castle. She hadn't known that such a thing as these cells had existed in the old ruins so close to her village, yet now they were filled to capacity with her people, slowly starving to death in the dark. During the day they worked rebuilding the walls of the castle and each sunset there would be one or two prisoners executed for being clumsy in their task. Each night she gave them water and watched as they lost their spirit and succumbed to their fear and despair.

The next prisoner was from a neighbouring village and he also snatched at the ladle spilling some of the water in his haste. 'Clumsy brat," he spat at her and drank the rest of the water before thrusting the ladle cruelly into her stomach. None of the others commented about his cruelty – not with the Jaffa there all too ready with his staff weapon. She took the ladle back and backed out of the cell. The huge Jaffa beside her ushered her onto the next cell and she unlocked the cell door with trembling fingers. The key was cold in her hands and felt covered with slime making her clumsy as she turned the thing in the lock. The Jaffa struck her between the shoulder blades to make her hurry.

Malia let out a small cry of pain as the bruise on her back received yet another blow.

"Leave the girl alone," demanded the last prisoner.

The Jaffa struck the prisoner on his chained thigh and the man glared his defiance back at the Jaffa.

The God had ordered this prisoner be kept alive for questioning or the jaffa would have killed him for such behaviour. Perhaps it was this that made the fair haired man so brave.

Malia stared at him with wide eyes. She didn't know who he was, this stranger. He had only been here for a few weeks. Yet the God punished this one far more than any of the other prisoners. His strange clothing was matted with dried blood and not an inch of his face was unbruised. The strange glass circles that he had once worn over his eyes had left cuts on his cheeks when the God had struck him. Yet she had watched him spit defiance at the God from her hiding spot above the great hall, day after tortured day.

Malia lifted the ladle and stepped between the Jaffa and the prisoner.

He lifted concerned bright blue eyes to hers. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded her head vigorously, humbled by his care when he was so so hurt himself. She kept her eyes locked onto the stranger and felt a surge of something indefinable ripple through her being as she looked at him. This man who made the timid mouse brave. He touched her hand gently as she lifted the ladle. His hand was cold in the dampness of the cell and he sipped at the water carefully. When he was done he handed the ladle back to her with a smile. "Thank you," he whispered.

She smiled back at him caught by the intensity of his beautiful blue eyes. Yes, she was going to do it. For him. For the caring stranger with the blue eyes. For the only man imprisoned here who had shown her kindness and caring. She would do it for this stranger, who was not afraid of these Jaffa and there so called God.

She fumbled the ladle into the bucket and stumbled on the cobbled stone spilling the water from her bucket onto the floor.

The Jaffa cursed as the water spilled over his boots and the blow she received from his staff weapon was the hardest one she had yet received and nearly sent her into unconsciousness. As it was, she sprawled into the lap of the prisoner.

He caught her gently, despite the manacles that were heavy on his wrists.

Gently he held her and soothed her as she let out a sob of pain.

The Jaffa cursed her again and snatched at her arm. But not before she did it. Not before she saw the strangers blue eyes widen as she thrust the small weapon into his hand.

She flashed him a quick smile as she was dragged out of the cell. She had done it for this one kind stranger. She hoped that he could help save her and her people, or at least, himself, this one blue eyed stranger who alone, was not afraid – and who had captured her heart with his kindness.


End file.
